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On Walden Water Hazard

For my Idol, Rick Reilly

Believe it or not, I’m not a good golfer, and by simply being a human being, odds are you aren’t either. But do I have fun golfing? You bet an over-ketchup’d hot dog and $6 Michelob Ultra I do.

I’ve learned that there are two kinds of weekend golfers; those who go to have fun, and those who actually have the fun. I used to be the former.

But at least now I can stand back and laugh when my divot flies further than my ball.

One summer one of my best friends taught me how to put together a decent golf swing. I was better than most beginners. I thought next the April I’d be taking the Green Jacket off Tiger Woods’ back. Imagine Tiger’s relief that summer when he donned the Green Jacket and I was still searching for my ball in the tall grass.

I used to shell out $40 on Sunday for fits of rage between rides in a golf cart because I’m about as good at golf as Carl Lewis is at singing anthems. If donating golf balls to water hazards was tax deductible, there’d be a foundation named after me. There are archaeologists in Egypt who haven’t dug through as much sand as I have. I’ve sliced more golf balls than a driving range mower blade.

I used to be that pretentious ass who went through putters of 32 inches, 36 inches and 34 inches before I figured out the inches that really matter are the six between my ears.

Malcolm Gladwell, a man wiser than you and me once said it takes 10,000 hours to master your craft. If you’re my age, you should be worried about hitting the books, not hitting the fairway. If you’re my dad’s age, well, you probably don’t have 10,000 hours of free time left anyways. So chill out and enjoy the scenery between strokes – before you have one.

Let the CEOs buy the expensive Callaways at Sports MegaStore Incorporated, because the clubs you’re using affect your score about as much as the bag you carry them around in. You’re not going to be the next Tiger Woods. You’re not even going to be the next Austin Bowen. (The guy who finished dead last on last year’s Hooters Tour, which yes, is a real thing) And for the love of Hogan, don’t waste $15 on a sleeve of golf balls that’ll be lost before your next outing is over.

Save your money for those $6 Michelob Ultras, and tip that pretty blonde beer cart girl; she won’t judge you for cracking a beer at 10 a.m. on a Sunday.

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